


the second proposal

by wedelia



Series: Good Omens fluff [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Is that a thing? It should be.), Established Relationship, Fluff, Literature Kink, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pride and Prejudice References, Softie Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 00:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedelia/pseuds/wedelia
Summary: Crowley can’t believe he agreed to do this. This is a testament, he thinks, to the way he’ll say yes to anything if Aziraphale is the one asking him.Or, the one where Aziraphale is a Jane Austen fan and Crowley reevaluates his life decisions.





	the second proposal

Crowley can’t believe he agreed to do this. This is a testament, he thinks, to the way he’ll say yes to anything if Aziraphale is the one asking him. Especially if Aziraphale asks it immediately after sex, when Crowley’s basking in the afterglow and his defenses are down. 

(As a side-note, Crowley is very proud of how benevolently manipulative Aziraphale has become since this new romantic phase of their relationship began. He considers it touching evidence of the angel’s affection for him.)

Crowley adjusts the sleeves of his coat and checks behind him to make sure it seems properly billowy. The fog in the air has created a strange dampness on his shirtsleeves, and he can already feel the way his hair—longer than usual, closer to the loose curls he’d had in the time period they’re replicating—is reacting to the humidity. 

_ The things I do for love, _Crowley thinks, feeling less resigned about it than he’d be willing to admit to any of his demonic acquaintances. 

He gives his outfit one last glance before deciding it’s close enough. The sun is about to rise on the horizon, and it’s showtime. 

Crowley saunters across the field towards Aziraphale. When he gets close enough that he and Aziraphale are within arm’s reach to of each other, Crowley stops. 

There’s a gleam of anticipation and—Crowley can’t believe this, again, he’s somehow fallen in love with the nerdiest being on the planet—_ lust _in Aziraphale’s eyes. If Crowley had known Aziraphale would be so into this, he would have offered to do it much earlier. 

Crowley clears his throat. He tries to remember his lines. He’d committed them to memory before they arrived, but it’s easy to get distracted by how good Aziraphale looks in that well-tailored coat. 

Eventually Crowley gathers himself enough to say, “You must know. Surely you must know. It was all for you.” 

Aziraphale’s smile is so sweet that Crowley thinks with a kind of pang in his chest that he’d do anything for him. All of the things. Crowley would move heaven and hell (and Earth, too, he supposes) to make Aziraphale happy. 

Crowley’s paused for too long. Aziraphale prompts, “Crowley….”

Crowley nods. “Right. There’s more.” He schools his expression back into something Darcyesque and continues. “You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you have spoken with my”—Crowley has been forced to be a little creative with the source material—“uh, with my Antichrist, and it has taught me to hope.”

Aziraphale gives him another encouraging smile. 

Crowley says, really getting into character now, “If your feelings are still what they were last May, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed. But one word from you will silence me forever.”

Aziraphale makes a noise that sounds like a squeak when Crowley inches closer and lowers his voice. “If, however, your feelings have changed…” Crowley pauses for dramatic effect. His angel looks like he’s going to swoon. Crowley feels a smug sense of satisfaction. “...I will have to tell you…you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I—I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

Aziraphale sucks in a breath and says, eyes shining, “Oh, Crowley, that was beautiful. I knew you would do it justice.”

Then Crowley goes off script. 

It’s just—he sees the way Aziraphale is looking at him, like he’s something good, like he’s the best thing the angel’s ever seen—and in an instant the selfish emotional part of him takes over, and Crowley’s convinced that he would do absolutely anything to keep Aziraphale looking at him that way forever, or at least for the longest possible amount of time available to them, if they couldn’t have that. So. 

Crowley goes down on one knee. The fabric of his trousers gets damp. There will probably be grass stains. 

Aziraphale’s brow furrows in confusion. This isn’t in the plan. 

Crowley grins up at him. “Angel,” he says, teasing. He watches the emotions flash across Aziraphale’s face—_ curiosity denial surprise shock love love love— _and softens his voice into something more serious. “Aziraphale, I really do love you,” Crowley says, fast, before he can give in to any self-doubt. “I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and I already consider myself the luckiest demon in the world for having gotten a chance to know what it’s like to have you love me back. Would you—”

But then Crowley meets Aziraphale’s eyes again, and they’re _ wet, _and Crowley is horrified. He jerks to his feet. “Az—love—don’t cry,” he says, panicked. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

“_Crowley,” _ Aziraphale says. His eyes are wide, and there are tears running down his cheeks, and they came out to this field specifically so that they could recreate the moment in the Pride and Prejudice movie when Darcy and Lizzie kiss as the sun rises, which means that the golden morning light is currently doing unfairly flattering things to Aziraphale’s face, and—

Aziraphale kisses him. Or maybe he kisses Aziraphale. The important thing is that they’re kissing. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, lips moving against Crowley’s. “Yes. Yes. Crowley, you—I love you so much.”

Crowley frowns. “I haven’t asked yet.”

(Of course Crowley’s also relieved that Aziraphale hadn’t been crying because he was upset at the idea of being shackled to Crowley for life and doubly relieved to hear that he’s actually quite in favor of the idea—in fact, elated would probably be a better description of Crowley’s current mood—but it’s the principle of the thing.)

Aziraphale beams at him. Crowley’s a bit overwhelmed, because Aziraphale doesn’t beam very often, but when he does it feels like looking directly into the sun. “Ask me, then.”

“No crying this time,” Crowley says, firm. But there’s a grin tugging at his mouth. “I mean it. You can’t expect me to keep talking when—”

Aziraphale shoves his chest lightly. “_Crowley. _Get on with it.”

Crowley laughs. “Alright.” He reaches out to wipe the dampness under Aziraphale’s eyes away with his thumb, and says, “Aziraphale, I love you. Will you—”

“Yes,” Aziraphale blurts. 

Crowley groans. “Come on, angel. Patience.”

Aziraphale looks sheepish. “Sorry. Keep going.”

Crowley smiles at him. He would never tell Aziraphale—or any other living soul, for that matter—but sometimes when he thinks about how much he loves Aziraphale Crowley gets this burning feeling in his chest that’s hotter and more enduring than any hellfire he’s ever encountered. He thinks that the apocalypse could happen and all of the stars could burn out of the sky and this passionate, searing flame in his chest would still be there. He thinks that might be what love is. He says, “Aziraphale, you impatient, frustrating, ridiculous, wonderful angel, I love you.”

Aziraphale waits for the question, visibly tense with anticipation. Crowley takes in the angel’s restlessness and feels so fond and warm that he can’t feel the chill in the morning air anymore. 

“Are you sure you can wait until I’ve finished this time?” Crowley checks, deliberately stalling, because he wants to see the half-hearted glare Aziraphale sends him. 

“I’d prefer not to wait another few thousand years, if that’s alright with you, dear,” Aziraphale says. He’s practically vibrating with restrained excitement. 

Crowley smiles. “Oh, well, I can’t argue with that. So. Aziraphale. Light of my life, heart of my heart, my own darling—”

“Hurry up.” Aziraphale takes a step closer, eyes intent. “I can’t kiss you if you’re in the middle of proposing.”

“Fair point,” Crowley acknowledges. “Marry me?”

Aziraphale pulls him in for an enthusiastic kiss. _ “Yes.” _

An indeterminate length of time later, they pull apart again—Crowley’s hair is tousled and Aziraphale has the beginnings of a love bite on his neck—and Crowley says, fully aware of what he’s doing, “I hope you know how _ ardently _ I admire and love you.”

Aziraphale actually gasps. “Take me home,” he says, tugging at Crowley’s lapels. “Take me home right now.”

Crowley grins. They miracle away from the field.


End file.
